


The World At Our Feet

by belladonawritings



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003)
Genre: Body Horror, Corruption, F/M, Inflation, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Post-Fullmetal Alchemist: Conqueror of Shamballa, Reader-Insert, Shapeshifting, Sharing a Body, Transformation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-25
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-09-19 21:32:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9461213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belladonawritings/pseuds/belladonawritings
Summary: You don't know what to think when you find her in your back yard, but it doesn't take long for her to drag you into her madness - or for you to fall in love with it yourself. Dietlinde EckhartxReader, Post-Movie. Commissioned by Robotnik14.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All the politics in this chapter are strictly in-world and do not reflect my own beliefs.  
> There are guns, arrests, violence and moments of psychosis in this chapter.

            You don’t really know what to think when you first find her in your backyard. Drunken revellers, perhaps, or a hallucination brought on by your lack of sleep – Fourth of July fireworks have a bad tendency to stop you from sleeping. But you know that no matter why, you can’t ignore a body in your backyard. It’s just, well, not _done._ Even if said body is clad in armour from head to toe.

You approach her carefully, and that’s when you start to notice everything else that’s wrong. There’s black… _stuff_ pooled around her like a lake. It looks like crude oil, but it’s not moving or spreading. You pick up a stick from the ground, and give it a careful poke, and it’s hard and stiff. Still, it’s difficult keeping yourself calm as you walk on it. It’s so black that it feels like you’re going to fall into it at any second. But then, finally, you reach her. She’s face down in the substance, and there’s more of it on her clothes (it looks like armour, but who wears _armour?)_ and hands, staining like ink.

            Well, better safe than sorry. Cautiously, you prod her with the stick in your hand. There’s a twitch from the woman on the ground, and her fingers spasm. Well, she’s alive. That’s something, at least.

            “Hello?”

            No response. You’re starting to get really worried. After all, she might not be dead, but she doesn’t look like she’s doing too well, either. Swallowing down your instinctive response to the black substance, you kneel down next to her, checking her wrist for a pulse. It’s there, faster than it should be but nice and loud.

            You take her by the shoulder and carefully try to roll her over – and your heart skips a beat. She’s beautiful – but not the kind of beautiful you see at the mall, or in the pages of Playboy. She’s cold and soft all at once, and if it weren’t for the fact that you know nobody healthy sleeps this deeply on this uncomfortable a surface, you’d think she was just sleeping.

The only thing that marks her face is a web of black material, stretching from ear to ear in thick, irregular lines. You reach down to wipe it off. Your fingers touch her face –

-and her hand snaps up, clasping around your neck, tighter and tighter, and her eyes are boring into yours, too blue to exist, the brightest, coldest blue you’ve ever seen –

\- she hisses, “ _Elric,”_ and the light fades from her eyes, and she slumps over into true unconsciousness, fingers sliding from your throat.

You should probably call the police. Or the mental asylum. Hell, anybody. Instead, rubbing your throat thoughtfully, you lean over and wrap your arms around her, hefting her over your shoulder and taking her inside. You’ve heard the word Elric before, and the least you can do is offer her a coffee when she wakes up.

\----

She’s on your bed now, eyes half-closed, and you watch her with a sort of horrified fascination. From one angle, you don’t recognize her at all. She’s just a gorgeous blonde woman with a slim figure and small hands, clad in the kind of thing you’d expect from a Ren Faire. From another angle the similarity snaps into place and you can’t imagine _not_ seeing her as she is – Dietlinde Eckhart, cruel and clever and sharp as ice.

But _how?_ You watched an anime with your friends. Characters don’t just…show up. Maybe it’s just – you don’t know. An alarming resemblance. How alarming does it need to be before you walk away and check _yourself_ into a mental hospital?

You give yourself a small slap on the head. There’s no point in driving yourself around the bend. It doesn’t _matter_ who she looks like. She needs your help.

The nagging voice in the back of your head tells you that you should probably take her to a hospital. You brush it off. She looks physically fine.

_There’s always the possibility of internal damage –_

She’s _fine._

You sip your coffee, eyes still fixed on her. Then, with a groan, you get to your feet, and lean over her. You’re losing your mind – cartoons don’t come to life, and nobody shows up out of nowhere without anything on them. So you search her, flushing as you slide your hands to her hips. No pockets – but there is one at her breast, in the fabric hanging over the metal she’s clad in, and you almost convince yourself that you’re _only_ doing this for her safety, sliding your fingers in there as well.

No driver’s license – not so much as a wallet or a pile of change.

 _Nobody carries their ID with them when they’re dressed like a knight,_ your mind offers. If you really want to know who she is, the armour has to come off. It’s possible she’s wounded underneath it, anyway.

You start at her feet, heart speeding up in your chest. Greaves first. It takes a bit of searching, but you find the buckles behind her thighs, and even though part of you is waiting for blood to rush from underneath one of them, everything seems fine. Her boots are leather, and you tug them off, throwing them to the side.

There’s a sound, and your head starts up. It takes you a moment to realize that it was a soft laugh. You meet her bright blue eyes, still fogged from sleep, from under her long eyelashes. “Well, hello.”

You gulp. You’re not sure why you feel so guilty. “…Hi,” you say after a long while.

She laughs again, a weary, weak sound that turns into a cough as she clears her throat. There’s still an edge to it, even with how clearly exhausted she is. “So I wasn’t dreaming. Who are you?”

“Ryan.” somehow manage to stop your voice from shaking. You’re still knelt at her feet, and it occurs to you that you should move – but you can’t quite make yourself do so.

“I see. And where am I, Ryan?”

“Newford, New York.” You watch her face. You remember the show, the place she can’t _possibly_ come from. Feeling like an idiot, you add, “The United States of America. 2017.”

She hides her incredulity, but not quite well enough. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not. I swear.”

“Then why are you speaking German?”

You shake your head dumbly. You’ve never spoken German in your life. The most you manage is _Guten Morgen._

Something flares in her eyes, and suddenly, she’s sitting up and there’s _something_ at your throat again, but you can _see_ her hands on the bedsheet –

-With a pained grunt, you reach up and gently try to pull the white fabric away from your neck. It resists at first, but then Dietlinde gives a quiet sigh, and it falls away. She raises her hand, staring at the open palm as a small smile spreads across her face. “So I have some proof it wasn’t a dream,” she murmurs. There’s a flicker of something in her eyes. You’re not sure whether it terrifies or excites you.

_Dietlinde Eckhart._

It _is_ her.

What do you do _now?_

“I need the rest of this armour off,” she says in something that’s half a request, half a command. “I won’t be able to rest properly otherwise.” The smile softens, becomes almost genuine. “I know I can trust you. You could have killed me while I was sleeping.”

You know she’s manipulating you. You’ve seen her in action. It’s what she _does._ But – or maybe, _because_ – you move up to the side of the bed and begin to unclasp the metal from her arms, feeling her eyes on you, pretending that your heart isn’t quietly racing.

            “Tell me. Is it dangerous here in the future?”

            You shrug. “I don’t know. I guess so? Things are a bit heated right now.” You pull the bracer free, and she flexes her fingers.

            “And Shamballa?”

            _It doesn’t exist. And neither do you._ There’s all sorts of things you could say. “I don’t know anything about Shamballa,” you say instead.

            She doesn’t say anything at that – just flexes her fingers again. “Hm.”

            You almost ask what she’s thinking. You don’t think you want to know.

\---

            You mean to call the hospital, but it doesn’t feel like the right time – and besides, what would they do with her? So instead, you offer up your shower, and she gives a lovely sigh and accepts. You walk her over, and she leans on you, grunting in pain, but you don’t buy it. There’s nothing wrong with her. Still, you keep your arms around her, pressing your hand into her side and wondering what the rest of her feels like.

            Under the armour, she’s wearing simple clothing – white blouse, white pants. She starts undressing, and pulls the white blouse halfway up her torso – “Ryan.”

            “Yes?” You pull your eyes away from the sliver of stomach, feeling blood rush both to your cheeks and down into your groin. She doesn’t seem to have noticed, but you have an eerie idea that she notices _everything._

            “What happened?” she asks thoughtfully. Her eyes have slid off to just over your shoulder, and you wonder what she’s seeing. “I – went into the Gate. And I’m here. What happened while I was gone?”

            “You mean in history?”

            “It wasn’t history when I –“ She shrugs. “You can tell me later. Give me some privacy,” she commands.

            You close the door behind you. _She doesn’t know Germany lost the war._ That’s not going to be a fun conversation.

            Thirty or so minutes later, the door opens with a billow of steam. You avert your eyes – mostly – and she walks out, towel wrapped around her torso and hair dripping onto her shoulders. The black substance on her face is gone, and her face is ruddy and flushed, eyes shining with… something. You’re not sure what. With an embarrassed fascination, you notice that her arms and legs are freckled. _She looks so much younger._

            “Your showers are much nicer than the ones at home,” she comments with a smile. You smile back, and awkwardly lower the book you were reading, trying to hide how much you’re appreciating her state of undress. _She’s a guest._ Yes, you’ve got a cartoon character as a guest in your house.

            “I’m glad to hear it,” you say finally.

            Her face drops a little, but it’s not at what you said. Her eyes have gone a little distant again, and the youthful happiness – at being clean? At being warm? It’s hard to tell – has disappeared. “There was a war, wasn’t there?”

            “How did you know?”

            “I was –“ Dietlinde shakes her head. “It was 1925 when I left. Everybody knew something was going to happen. And then I was in the Gate.” She searches your face for recognition, and there’s a spark of shock when she finds it. “You know it.”

            “Only by reputation.” You’re not going to mention the show.

            “It – showed me. No details. Just the destruction.” She licks her lips. “We were _powerful._ We were strong.”

            You must have given something away in your face. Any warmth left in her face disappears, and a snarl appears on her lips. “ _What are you laughing at?_ ”

            You’re not laughing – quite the opposite. But you reply as softly as you can anyway, “Germany lost the war.” You don’t know how else to phrase it. You don’t even bother mentioning the Holocaust, or the millions of burnt bodies. The small part of you that isn’t completely taken in by her charm and her cold manipulations knows she doesn’t care.

            Still, you aren’t expecting her to react quite so badly. You blink, and the black substance is on her face again, leaking out of her pores and dripping onto the floor like blood. It’s in her eyes too, black threads pulsing through the veins in her eyeballs. “Don’t lie to me,” she growls.

            You drop the book completely. “I’m…” The rest of the sentence disappears into silence as you grope for something to say. Everything sharpens until all you see is the black blood on her face, on her shoulders, staining the white towel until it’s too heavy to hold and drops thickly to the ground.

            “Who are you _really?_ ” she asks tauntingly. It breaks the trance you seem to have fallen into, and you make a break for the door – it slams shut, a purple circle flashing over it. The phone – you can call the police – it bursts into a shower of purple sparks.

            “Nobody special! Ryan! My name’s Ryan!”

            “ _Why are you lying to me?”_

You turn to face her. She’s naked, the black liquid covering her from head to toe, but you can still see her eyes. They’re not angry. They’re broken and sad and _lost._

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly, raising your hands.

            Slowly, the black disappears back into her skin, until it’s just her again, standing naked and vulnerable and human in front of you. “So what now?” she asks, trying to make it sound harsh – but she can’t quite hide the fear that makes her voice break.

            You step forward, and without invitation, she falls forward and into you. “Help me,” she whispers, and it’s _blatant,_ but you fall for it. “I’ll kill them, I’ll _kill them._ ”

            “Who?”

            “All of them. Shamballa. They’re to blame. I’ll finish the job. I’m going back.” She raises her head and stares up at you, suddenly implacable and cold again. “Help me.”

            “Of course.” Better that world than yours, after all. And what else can you say? You were a slave to her the moment she opened her eyes.

\---

            You suppose you should expect the world to have changed, somehow. But instead, your life – previously so quiet, so uninteresting – simply goes on as if everything is normal. You wake up, you eat breakfast, you turn on the television – but now you have someone sitting next to you, interrupting with questions. Shamballa hasn’t come up again, but you can see it behind her eyes.

            All the while, you find it harder and harder to find a reason to stop her. _People might get hurt._ But could you even stop her if you tried? _Go with her. Go with her and.._ And what? Try to make it better?

            You try not to acknowledge the thoughts that gather more darkly behind the rest of it. To see Shamballa. To rule a world. To rule a world – with _her._ You know they’re there, but you push them away, and you reckon that you can only improve things.

            You stop inviting your friends over – what can they possibly have to offer, better than her stories of grandeur and glory in 1920s Germany? She tells you about the music, about the hopeless and hapless Weimar Republic, about the raids and the riots and the Treaty of Versailles. She tells you about money carried in wheelbarrows to buy bread, and Hitler’s dreams of change. In return, you show her the Internet, the rise of communism, the age of social media, the models flaunting their bodies on magazines. She lingers on that page for longer than you expected, but you know better to ask.

            When she asks you, eyelashes lowered and false shyness in her voice, to buy a gun. You’ve had your registration for years, but you’ve never owned one – but she’s not wrong.

            After all, there’s so much that could go wrong.

\---

            It’s been a month, and somehow, you’re still surprised to come back into your own home and hear music blaring. It takes you a little to place it, but you can’t help but grin once you place it – she’s apparently discovered YouTube and Lady Gaga.

            “Having fun?”

            She starts, and you try not to smile _too_ much. She’s in one of your old housecoats, perched on your desk chair with ‘Bad Romance’ playing. “Future culture is…odd.” She indicates the screen. “She is interesting, but I would much rather be able to tell the difference between the prostitutes and the singers.” Then Dietlinde pauses, and with a laugh, adds, “Although we couldn’t tell the difference back then either.”

            You grin and sit down on the couch. She closes the window – then after a few moments of squinting at the computer, pulls up another one. She’s unbelievably smart – she picked it up quickly – but she hasn’t quite mastered tabs yet. “What is this place?”

            You glance over her shoulder, and your stomach does an unpleasant flip. “It’s the nuclear power plant.”

            “Nuclear. That’s what they used in Japan, yes?”

            “A – a weaponized version of it.” You can’t quite seem to swallow the anxiety this time. Especially not when she smiles and bites her lip until black blood comes out.

            “Perfect. Book me a tour.”

            “A – a tour?”

            “A private one.”

            “Do they even do this?”

            “Throw enough money at someone and they’ll do anything,” she says haughtily.

            Oh for _Christ’s_ sake. “Isn’t this going a bit far?” You try not to sound nervous, but your voice shakes anyway, and you reach over her shoulder to close the tab.

            Suddenly you can’t move. You’re not surprised, but you fight it anyway. Her hand is gentle on your arm, but the power rushing through it is forceful and uncompromising. “What’s the matter, Ryan?” she asks sweetly, fixing your eyes with hers.

            _How much money am I going to spend on you?_ you think, and wonder if she can hear. _How much time am I going to waste on a genocidal maniac?_

She stands up, hand still on your arm, and traces your jaw with her other hand. “Come destroy Shamballa with me. That’ll be worth than whatever measly amount you spend.”

            Dietlinde leans in and captures your mouth with hers, and her tongue snakes into your mouth, forcing your lips open. The alchemy holding you in place fades, and you grip her arms. You mean to push her away – instead, you slam her against the wall and you pour your frustration into her lips, her cheeks, everything you can reach. You have her wrists against the plaster, and she’s grinding up against you, housecoat falling open –

            She pushes you gently back, and places a hand over your crotch, barely touching you. “Help me open the Gate, and you can do anything you want.” It’s whispered so quietly in your ear, but it’s filled with so much promise that it _burns._

You nod, and you’re lost.

\---

            And now here you are, deep inside a nuclear power plant. Your shirt itches. You’ve never worn a fresh dress shirt before, and you feel ridiculous, not to mention _several_ hundred dollars lighter.

            “This is where we keep the fuel rods.” The tour guide points down from the balcony where you’re standing, down to the faint nuclear glow. It makes you feel sick to your stomach. This whole place is… wrong. Wrong in a way you can’t place. You’re no environmentalist, and you’re not going to complain about the power the station fuels to your house and your workplace, but you just… don’t like how it feels.

            Maybe it’s just the hungry look on Dietlinde’s face that makes you feel that way. She’s wearing a new dress, black and slick and sparkling, and the glow of the fuel rods blinks off of it onto her face, illuminating her high cheekbones. She can’t stop smiling, and the tour guide’s discomfort is palpable. He’s dressed normally, in black slacks and a t-shirt with a logo on it, and his attempt at cheeriness is getting weaker and weaker by the moment.

            “And there’s nobody else here.”

            “Nope. Right now the station is running on its own. Minimal staff required –“

            “ _Excellent._ ”

            You almost tell him to run. It’s on the tip of your tongue. Instead, you stand and watch as she seizes him by the throat, pushes him against the balcony, and drives a still-sparking knife through the bottom of his jaw. He’s young, and it takes a few moments for the life to drain from his eyes, and out onto her hand in technicolour red – but once it does, the entire room sparks. The circle starts at her feet, and ignites until it encloses the entirety of the power plant’s inner sanctum.

            She turns to you, specks of blood on her cheek. “Are you ready?”

            You nod. Of course you’re not. None of this _feels real._ Nothing has felt real since she showed up and made you her slave.

            She yanks the knife out of the sacrifice’s chin, and his head bobs down onto his chest. Then she throws him over the edge, into the fuel cells. There’s a wind coming from somewhere, too loud to bear, tossing her hair this way and that –

            -and in midair, a marble floor appearing around it, the Gate appears.

            Dietlinde doesn’t waste any time. She steps up onto the balcony ledge, then steps out of her shoes, letting them drop behind her. Then she walks across the air, the wind of another world howling around her, and she stands in front of the doorway.

            Dietlinde turns to look at you, black blood rising in her pores again. You could still run. You still have a chance.

            The Gate looms behind her, and you can’t help it. You want to know. You want to see it – Shamballa, in all its glory.

            Without a word, you clamber up and follow her, and you slide your hand into hers, gazing up at the stone monolith. The letters and symbols twist on its surface.

            “Kiss me,” she orders. You lean forward and push your lips against hers, and it’s soft at first, but then she kisses you back with teeth and tongue and a roughness that you can’t escape and that you can’t help but love. And never breaking contact with you, holding your hand so tightly you think your fingers will break, she lifts her fingers to the great door, and opens the Gate.


	2. Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for psychosis/hallucinations, guns, monster stuff, violence, Ed being a prick, Idk. What do you expect from me?

The world ends.

                The world starts.

                New ones grow and bloom and die, and your eyeballs are bathed in fire and you can’t look _away there’s so much so much so much –_

_This is the truth._

There’s nothing here, you want to scream, even as the entirety of existence pours into your head and out again. You want – you want –

                -and before you can even vocalize anything, before you can even _think_ past the white light, the eternities spinning past, before you can do anything except reach for hopeless dreams that have only lingered at the edges of your consciousness –

                --------

                Cold.

                “Ryan.”

                _Who -?_ You’ve never heard her be so soft before. There’s a hand on your head. Stone against your forehead, arm –

                _this is the truth_

“Ryan, say something.”

                Your heart. It’s hammering. Hammering. Hammering against your chest. Maybe it’ll explode. You’re here to die, that’s what it is, this is death and Dietlinde is your angel, and you suddenly imagine it or perhaps hallucinate it, her hand so gentle on you head suddenly reaching down to your neck and choking you, breaking your neck within the space of a blink –

                “ _Ryan!_ ”

                And your eyes open. It is stone, wet stone, below you. She rolls you over, and the black blood is dripping from her again. You think perhaps you can see eyes in it. You think perhaps you see eyes everywhere, staring unblinkingly at you from stone buildings, empty buildings, eyes from empty windows, eyes eyes _eyes –_

There’s something else cold at your chin, and you’re holding something and it’s cold and _hard_ and she’s staring at you with blue eyes –

                “Stop staring at me,” you rasp, and barely recognize your own voice. You can barely even remember who _you_ are. _Hell you were in hell that was hell they told you about that but they never made you realize what it would be like –_

(but part of you wants to go back you need the truth and besides it wasn’t so bad was it not with her)

                “Ryan,” she says quietly, “put the gun down.”

                You start, and look down. The cold metal is pressed to the underside of your chin, and your shaking finger is on the trigger. Slowly, not quite sure why you’re listening to her at all, you set it down with a click onto the damp cobblestones.

                “The first time is the worst,” she says, still in that quiet, tender voice you barely recognize. “The eyes will go away.”

                _She’s lying,_ whispers a new voice in your head. _The eyes never go away. You just learn to enjoy them. She likes how they feel on her skin._

                You decide not to tell her about that part. Perhaps that fades too.

\---

                You manage to fake ignorance outwardly, or at least you think you do, but your heart won’t stop racing as you look around at the abandoned city. You haven’t _been_ here before, but you’ve seen it. _Edward died here,_ you realize. So did Wrath. So did Gluttony.

                You wonder how much of that _she_ knows. _None of it,_ you realize. You know more than she does. You have the upper hand. You decide to save that knowledge, just in case it comes in handy. It’s easy to forget that she comes from your world, originally.

                “They sealed it up again,” she snarls. She’s staring up, where textured concrete seals off the top, then she lowers her eyes down to you again. “Last time I was here, I was on a ship. We just went through the top. But they’ve sealed this place off.”

                “Why didn’t they get rid of it?”

                She shrugs. “Superstition, I imagine. Or perhaps respect for the dead.”

                The moment she says that, the eyes – almost ignored, almost faded – seem to grow, until all you can feel is their empty gaze. She doesn’t seem to notice. Instead, she makes her way to the wall, and with a flash of purple, she blasts her way through. “Come on. Let’s find out what these creatures have done to themselves now.”

                The eyes don’t blink, and instead, they follow you as you follow her, up the stairs she carves into the earth of a world you don’t belong to. The gun is heavy on your hip. The whispers – _shoot her shoot yourself don’t you want to see more don’t you want to get drunk on truth –_ don’t stop. But they just become part of the background, after a while.

\--

                And then it’s the two of you on the streets on Central, in tattered formal clothes but otherwise looking frighteningly normal. She’s sucked the black blood back into her, and wiped off the blood the best that she can, but nobody even seems to notice you.

                You didn’t expect everything to seem so… _normal._ Perhaps it’s because you saw it in a cartoon. Things don’t look real when they’re drawn. That’s the point. But people bustle past you on the street, eager to get to where they’re going – cars splash through puddles on the street – conversations in sidewalk cafes mingle and drift upwards and over your head – and you start to wonder if you’re doing the right thing.

                Dietlinde, on the other hand, looks out at them from the exit of the alleyway with a slightly raised lip of disdain. “Idiots. Always in such a hurry to get from one pointlessness to another. I bet half of them don’t even know who’s in charge.”

                “Well, _we_ don’t know who’s in charge yet.”

                “We just _got_ here, Ryan.” She gives an exasperated sigh, but you don’t miss the sparkle in her eye, and you almost blush. She takes off towards the newspaper stand, and you pause for a few seconds, trying to reassert yourself – and then with a resigned smile, follow after her.

                You almost regret it when you see her face. The sparkle in her eyes is gone, replaced with a cold fury that makes your early encounter with her look like _nothing._

                You follow her gaze down to the newspaper headline. **_‘Hero of the People’ Makes Amends With Amendment’._** The article picks up below, and you mutter it below your breath before you can stop yourself. “The new amendment, introduced more than a year ago, restores voting rights to more than 3,000 disenfranchised Ishvalans. The move is polarizing, and more than ever shows just how divisive Edward Elric can be –“ You cut yourself off, and your gaze drops to the photo below. Edward Elric, shaking hands with an Ishvalan man. Edward Elric, in a nice suit and a dazzling grin.

                What. The. Fuck.

                “Explain this to me,” she growls at the newspaper seller. He gives you an alarmed, confused look, and you fumble, trying to come up with some good excuse.

                “Uh – we’ve been out of the country for a while,” you offer, ignoring Dietlinde’s glare.

                “You missed his election, then,” he laughs, although he’s clearly uncomfortable with Dietlinde, edging slightly away from her. You don’t really blame him. “ _That_ was a mess. First time we’ve had Prime Minister elections in almost a hundred years, and a write-in candidate wins! He wasn’t even _running._ ”

                _Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh –_ One look at Dietlinde’s face erases the urge to laugh completely. It does kind of sound like what would happen, although you’re somewhat doubting your knowledge of this universe now. “Uh, he wasn’t?”

                “No, he was wandering around just doing his thing and somehow gave half the country the idea that he was a candidate. Once the news broke, he made a run for the border.” The newspaper seller laughs heartily, belly jiggling as he does. “Apparently Mustang had to drag him back by his ear.”

                “He doesn’t even _want_ to be in charge?” She’s seething, teeth gritting against each other, and you can see the black blood oozing from under her hair.

                “No, but he’s taken to it well. Best leader we’ve _ever_ had, I reckon. And first time in a century we’ve actually been at peace.”

                For a moment, you wonder if Dietlinde is going to kill him. There’s black blood dripping from her sleeve, and you try to angle yourself to hide it, but then she gives an almost-genuine-looking smile. “I see. Well, I’m glad he made something of himself.” Then she walks away, her stride just a little too fast, her steps a little too loud.

                The newspaper seller watches her go, then sputters into a nervous laugh. “Thank _goodness._ I thought she was going to rip me to pieces.”

                You try to figure out how to respond. _Kill him. As a present. She’ll be happy,_ whisper the eyes, and they open on the seller’s stomach, over all the newspapers, until every photo of Edward Elric has an eye obscuring his face.

                Instead, you say, “He can’t _possibly_ be that popular. Isn’t he just a kid?”

                He shrugs. “Every Fuhrer – sorry, Prime Minister, I guess – has problems. Far as I’m concerned, he’s the best of the bunch.”

                You pick up one of the newspapers. “I’m gonna borrow this.”

                “Hey, wait, you can’t do that-!”

                You walk away anyway. The eyes are all over the street now. _Don’t worry,_ they whisper. _Nobody will cause trouble. They can smell us on you. They can smell us on her._

You don’t know if it’s just your perception, or if it’s real, but as you try to follow Dietlinde through the crowds, you can feel their nervous stares on you. They know you’re something else. Something wrong. Something other.

                You’re not sure, but you think you like it.

                Finally, you catch up to her, grabbing her arm, and she whirls to face you. “Elric. _Elric,_ ” she spits. “The Prime Minister! He was never supposed to make it _back_ here!”

                You don’t have the answer to that one. “Let’s find a hotel. We can figure out the rest in the morning.”

                Her eyes flash. She doesn’t like you taking charge, or trying to call the shots. It’s a sign of how much the trip through the Gate has cost her that she just nods, and lifts her eyes to the buildings on the street, scanning them carefully. You’re in the more built-up part of Central now, and about a block away, she finds one – a grand hotel, more than seven floors high.

                “How are we going to pay for it?”

                She smiles, and her teeth are too sharp. “Let me take care of that.”

\---

                The hotel room is smaller than you would like. It still puts the motels of continental America to shame – not that that’s difficult – but when you imagine the grandeur of 1900s Western culture, something larger than a mid-size kitchen comes to mind.

                Eckhart doesn’t seem to mind. She’s busy staring out of the window, and you can see the gears clicking in her head, so you sit down on the bed and start unlacing your boots. For a moment, you think the eyes have gone, but then one opens at you from the hardwood floor, and you tear your gaze away from it, heart leaping into your mouth. You wonder, not for the first time, if you should ask her, then decide against it. You know you won’t leave her – but you’re not yet certain if the reverse is true.

                “I’ve earned this,” she says after a moment. You don’t respond, and before long, she continues. “The first time, I was… foolish. I underestimated him.”

                You turn to face her, hoping your expression doesn’t betray that you’ve seen this play out before. “Who is he?” you ask, to cover your tracks.

                “Edward Elric. The boy in the newspaper.” Her face, in profile to you, twists into a horrible grimace. “He does the devil’s work.”

                You can’t help but find that interesting – you’ve never been religious, but you know the devil’s meant to be charming. You watch the black blood slowly surface to her face, webbing over her delicate features. You wonder if she’s ever thought of herself as anybody but the hero.

                “I’ll kill him this time,” she says with a beatific smile, the sunset casting her face in red. “I’ll end his rule in blood and fire and baptize this sinful world.” She leans forwards on her elbows. “There’s hope for some of them, I’m sure. But there’s monsters behind those faces.” Then she turns and smiles back at you, black substance twisting her mouth upwards. “Don’t trust any of them.”

                You nod slowly. The voice of the Gate grabs her words and echoes them back at you, engraving them deeply enough that you’ll never forget them. _Don’t trust them! Monsters! Monsters!_

                She laughs softly, turns back to the window – and starts a little in surprise. “Ooh. Well. _This_ has promise. Ryan, come see _this,_ ” she purrs.

                You come up behind her, and over her shoulder, you can see a growing crowd walking down the street towards what you imagine is Central Headquarters. Some of them are carrying signs. Others are carrying stones.

                “A protest,” you murmur, and a familiar twist of anxiety appears in your stomach. She’s already pulling away from the balcony, though, excitement obvious in the flicker of her wrists, in the patter of her feet, in the assured way she pulls her coat from the hanger and shrugs it over her dress.

                “An opportunity,” she corrects you, and grins, sharp teeth filling her mouth. Then she’s gone, and it’s your job, once more, to follow.

\---

                The protestors’ aim becomes more and more obvious as you and Eckhart join up with the crowd, the chant growing louder as you push into the mob. “No monsters ruling, living large, alchemists are not in charge!”

                “Elrics go home!”

                “You’re not _our_ hero!”

                Eckhart – you can’t ever seem to settle on one name or the other – looks up at the signs with a slowly-spreading grin. “Well, then. So much for him being popular.”

                A nearby citizen overhears and scoffs. “He has the newspapers eating out of his hand. It’s disgraceful. Years of Amestrian power and he gets himself into power and undoes it all.”

                “Did you hear?” added somebody else. “He’s talking about trading Milos back to Creta.”

                “Of _course_ he is. He won’t be happy until he’s given up every piece of land we’ve ever fought for and turned us all into his pet alchemists.”

                The sun is sinking below the horizon now, and a torch is shoved into your hand. “What’s this… for?” you ask uncertainly.

                Eckhart’s holding one too, and one of the other protestors lights them for you, lighting up her face with even more orange. “Isn’t it obvious? They’re marching to burn down Central Headquarters.”

                There’s a flurry of murmurs around you. You suddenly realize that you’ve stopped marching – at least the people closest to you have. Eckhart’s voice is raised ever so slightly, pitched to carry, and one look at the nervous eyes of the people around you show that she’s drawing them in with her irresistible presence, her dangerous idea.

                “That seems a bit much,” one person says in response.

Eckhart isn’t shaken. The torchlight gleams in her eyes. “You said it yourselves. He won’t be happy until he’s got you all beaten down. This is _your_ country, isn’t it? Not some attention-whoring alchemist’s.”

“What about Mustang?” cries out somebody else.

“What _about_ him?” Eckhart snaps, and you realize she doesn’t know who that is. It’s your turn. You have to say something –

“He killed the Fuhrer,” you find yourself saying, and the crowd explodes.

“We’ve been saying that for _years!_ ” yells a protestor. “We all fucking know it!”

“Elric keeps him around anyway – he doesn’t even _care!_ ”

Eckhart gives you a proud smile, and her approval fills you with warmth. “Are we going to let a _murderer_ be advisor to the highest office in the country?”

“No!” comes the strong but scattered response.

“Do you think just _marching_ will do anything?” Her voice is rising, and rising, and you can see her in all her glory, not just a politician but a _commander._

“No!” Stronger now.

“Are we burning down Central Headquarters tonight?”

“ _Yes!”_ It’s a swelling cry, and as one, the mob turns towards Headquarters, charged with violence, electricity running from body to body. It’s terrifying. It’s exhilarating. You hold your torch high, and you can almost pretend that this is _your_ country too.

Things start going wrong quickly. Before anybody has the time to stop or think, there’s a wall lancing up the road, well ahead of the angry mob so that nobody’s caught in it. A figure stands on the wall, and with a flash of blue light, a loudspeaker appears in his hand. “That’s far enough with the torches!”

“Not far enough!” screams a protestor. You’re not sure, but you think you can see the shadowed figure roll his eyes.

“I can listen to you here. Just you folks and me. How’s that sound?”

A few people hear him, and you can see the doubt on their faces, but others are just strengthened. “We want our country back!”

                He shrugs. “Okay! Which of you wants to be in charge?”

                You wonder if Eckhart will respond to that, but she’s keeping her head down. You don’t expect her to be _that_ stupid, anyway.

                “That’s what I thought,” comes the sneering response. “Come on! I don’t want this damn job. Who else wants it?”

                “If you don’t want it, give it to somebody else!”

                Ed laughs. He sounds different than you thought he would. Stairs appear in the wall, and he starts walking down them. It comes across as unbearably theatric, and you suddenly remember the gun still tucked into your belt. “Okay, I’m seeing a sign calling me a rich bastard. For one, I don’t know how much you think this job actually pays, seeing as I’m a PM, not a Fuhrer. “

                “We don’t want an _alchemist_ in charge!”

                “You’ve never _had_ an alchemist in charge before me,” Ed snaps. “If you’ve got a problem with me, it’s with _me._ ”

                “Fine,” spits one of the protestors in front. Then everything seems to sharpen and clear as the protestor pulls out a gun, aiming it at Edward, who doesn’t bat an eyelid –

                A shot fires, and the protestor drops their revolver with a scream.

                Edward sighs. “You also seem to think I’m _criminally stupid._ I said I’d listen. I didn’t say I’d let you shoot at me.” He crossed his arms. “Put your hands in the air, drop whatever you’re holding and come quietly. You’re being taken in for the night. Unless you do something _else_ stupid, each of you will be released in the morning.”

                You turn and search the crowd in a panic for Eckhart – but she’s gone, and your heart sinks. _She abandoned you,_ whispers the Gate. You don’t have a response for it.

\---

                Ed might be a good leader in some ways, but the cells are cramped, and you can feel the fear and distrust growing. They’ve taken your gun, and it’s sitting on the table at the front, and you sit back and wonder if she’s coming for you. _Of course she is._ It’s just your voice saying that, though, and it sounds so quiet, now.

                It doesn’t help that you recognize the woman standing guard out front. She’s different when she’s not a cartoon – a little less attractive, a little more terrifying, with a set jaw – but she’s still Riza Hawkeye, no doubt about it.

                Night falls. Riza trades off guard with someone else with a quarter of her presence - and behind them, the shadows lurch forward. A hulking black figure fuses through the wall, leaving black trails behind, and the soldier only manages to get out the barest hint of a scream before the creature reaches forward and snaps his neck with a single swift gesture.

                There’s a gunshot, but the figure raises a hand, and a purple shield glances it away. Then it makes its way down the hall of cells – towards _you._

                Your throat swells up with gratitude. You never should have doubted her.

                She wraps her thick, black fingers around the cell door, and gives you a nod. You stand back, and she rips it off of his hinges – then reaches her other hand out to you, offering you back your gun. She must have grabbed it as she made her way down to you, and you take it, feeling the weight of it.

                Riza is standing at the entrance, gun pointed firmly at Eckhart. There isn’t so much as the slightest hint of a tremble in her hands, and she fires, again and again. She hasn’t even noticed you.

                _Just one shot will do it,_ whispers the Gate, and the eyes watch you as you aim, sight – and at the last moment, shift your aim _just_ enough, so that when the sharp report goes off, it’s her arm that snaps back instead of her head. She stumbles backwards, a cry leaving her mouth.

                “Time to go,” Eckhart says in a deep, distorted voice. She reaches behind you, and your fellow protestors scream and try to get away, but she grabs one of them by the head. She squeezes, and his head explodes into a mess of red and gray and white. The purple array appears at your feet, and as the headless corpse falls at your feet, you can feel the Gate opening behind you.

                “STOP!” Riza’s still trying to stop you. Another shot rings out past your head, so you fire back, not aiming this time. It hits home anyway, and you see her fall, but then Eckhart – Dietlinde – is dragging you into the Gate, and Amestris disappears.


	3. Part Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is where things get properly NSFW, and get into inflation/transformation stuff. Woohoo!

The second time through, you stare into the golden-white abyss, and it stares back into you. _I remember who I was,_ it whispers, and you think you recognize the voice, low and husky and full of wonder. _Do you?_

The eyes surround you, but there’s somebody else there, hiding in the bright shadows. Waiting. Watching. Breath held.

            Before you can see more than waves of hair in the endless light, it’s over and you’re gone, and so is she - -

\---

            You fall to your knees onto the soft grass, trying to catch your breath in fits and starts, and Dietlinde’s next to you, the black blood in the same pattern on her face and pooling onto the garden again.

            _You failed,_ says the Gate voice. So much for the slim hope that you’d left that in Amestris. Instead, you fall onto your back, staring up into the evening sky. Have you really been gone for less than 24 hours? Or have you missed a day? A week? Who knows? You won’t, until you go check the computer calendar.

            You glance over at Dietlinde, but her face isn’t readable yet. She turns her head, and gives you a strange, uncertain look. “That…” She doesn’t seem sure how to finish it.

            _That was an utter disaster,_ you want to say. But it wasn’t. You know that reasonably enough. She might have been ready to go in guns swinging, but even to begin with you had your doubts, and maybe it’s the trips through the Gate, but your mind is clearer than it’s even been. “It was a start. We know what we’re dealing with now.”

You sit up. The pieces are starting to fall into place. “Edward is in charge. Mustang is his second-in-command – it looks like Hawkeye is his enforcer and bodyguard.”

            Her eyes narrow, but she’s following what you’re saying. “So what do we do?”

            You pause. She’s asking _you?_ “You need more people. The first time you attacked, you had a whole army –“

            “How could you _know_ that?”

            And abruptly, you realize you’ve said too much. You spring to your feet, heart racing, waiting for her response – but she just sits up and looks at you, waiting for an answer. “Ryan,” she says quietly. “How do you know that?” She’s not an idiot. Her muscles are tensed up, waiting to use alchemy on you. Your brain – faster than it should be, spinning too quickly – reminds you that alchemy shouldn’t even _work_ here. Somehow it does. You –

            “There’s – something. A book.” _A show._ “About you.” _About Edward._ But her ego can’t handle that. “It’s better you don’t watch it.”

            “Why?” she demands.

            “Trust me.” It’s a challenge, and you haven’t challenged her like this before. You haven’t had the courage. You wait, and hold your breath –

            “How could there be something about _me?_ ”

            “Somebody must have recorded it, when you –“ _died –_ “disappeared. But that’s not the point. The point is, you need more people. The two of us aren’t going to conquer a whole country.” Dimly, you wonder if it’s really you speaking, or the Gate through you – could you even tell? Maybe it’s just the confidence that comes from some faint knowledge that everything will work out in the end. The Truth, worming its way into you.

            Dietlinde snorts, and you can see her own arrogance reassert itself. She’s trusting you. Trusting that you’re speaking the truth. You _think_ you are. “Who do you suggest?”

            You weren’t sure at first, but then it occurs to you. “There are – were – beings. In the Gate. At least, I think that’s where they are now.” The being in the Gate comes back to you. Yes, her. Lust. The seducer. The manipulator. If anybody knows how to win against impossible odds, it’s her.

            _Yes. Yes._ The voice whispers to you.

            “Beings?”

            “Homunculi. Artificial humans.”

            The light sparks in her eyes, and she offers her hand to you. You pull her to her feet, and she grins. “Please. Tell me more.”

\---

            Things proceed, once again, with alarming speed. Two days later, the living room is emptied of furniture – carpet – everything. She’s drawn out a transmutation circle, by hand, not trusting her powers with a circle this delicate. You’ve stayed up the two nights while she slept, rewatching the series, trying to prepare yourself for what to expect.

You stay back, afraid. You’re afraid. _This could go wrong._

“Don’t worry,” she says, but you can hear a quiver in her voice. She doesn’t really know what she’s doing – it’s the Gate guiding her, the powers she has beyond her own comprehension. You don’t know if that’s something you _really_ know, or if it’s just your own mind unfolding past its own boundaries, things happening to you that you can’t even begin to understand.

She presses her hands to the circle, and light fills the room. It’s dark and gold all at once, the kind of light that fills you with dread. You take another step back, and another. You love her. You’re afraid. You’re afraid.

In the center of the circle, the pile of dust and carbon twists and shifts, possessed by an otherworldly force. It rises – falls – rises again. Eckhart mutters a curse – then suddenly, the room is filled with the behemoth of the Gate. It towers too high above you, warping the room to fit its size, warping reality to make its presence felt.

You slam yourself back against the wall, trying to get away from it – but Eckhart doesn’t move. She knows it by now. It’s in her blood, her being, her soul. When it opens, she doesn’t cringe. When the figure starts to form in its light, she raises her head to them. “Lust,” she says, and the shadow turns to look at her, recognizing its name.

            Within a second, the shadow vanishes, dropping to the floor into a pool of darkness – and the pile of dust starts to twist upwards into a shape. Human transmutation isn’t supposed to be possible, but if anybody _can,_ it’s Eckhart, and besides – Lust isn’t human anymore. Briefly a quote from a different show pops into your head – _What is dead may never die._ Valar morghulis. You wonder if that one is real, too.

            The shape forms and forms – and stops, with a lurch. The fall of her hair is there, and the faint shape of an Ourobouros on her naked chest, but her arm is a half-formed lump. Her stomach is a cave; from it spill organs, faded red on her ashy thighs, which end at the knee.

            _Not enough material,_ you think, but the answer was in the episodes you watched, and you were too much of an idiot to see it. Lust had a soul – that was what was in the Gate. And you have nothing to pay for it.

            _You?_ comes the Gate’s voice, and you can hear it coming out of the door in front of you, even if Eckhart can’t. _You pay nothing. She pays all._

The half-formed shape jerks forward, and a tentacle lashes out of the Gate behind it, reaching for Eckhart. You watch it wrap around her wrists – another one wraps around her mouth, its tip stuffing between her lips, muffling the scream that so briefly echoes through the room –

            -and still, you do nothing. You can’t move. _This is a dream,_ you think calmly. Why else would you stand here and watch this happen?

            The long, black coils of the Gate multiply and wrap around Eckhart’s body, dragging her further into the circle and closer to the unborn Lust. With a maliciousness you can feel more than see, they start tearing at her black dress, pieces of fabric flying away and turning into dust until she’s exposed to their touch. They stroke over her nipples, wrap so tightly around her breasts that they redden and flush, and more tentacles force her legs apart.

            With a dim awareness, you realize you’re hard in your jeans. You should help her. You won’t. _I want to watch._

            Instead of raping her, though, they hold her like that, suspended above the ground and gagged and restrained. The homunculus limps forwards on its – her? – cut-off thighs, and reaches for Eckhart with her one functioning arm, and the image burns into your eyes. Their silhouettes, against the bright light of the Gate.

            Then the homunculus sinks its hand into Eckhart’s chest. There’s no blood, but you can see Eckhart trying to scream anyway, and the tentacle in her mouth pushes its way deeper into her throat in response, and saliva pours down her chin. Lust’s hand disappears into her skin, then her arm, and then the homunculus leans down, the tentacle yanks roughly out of Eckhart’s mouth, and Lust captures her lips in a bruising, terrible kiss.

            Their shadows against the light begin to melt into each other, and you can hear Eckhart’s faint sobbing. Then, suddenly, it’s over. The Gate is gone. The room is normal. And in the center of the drawn circle, there’s a woman you don’t know, sprawled on the floor with the tatters of her black dress around her.

You manage to unglue yourself from the wall, and you run over to her. You aren’t sure what you expect – but the woman below you isn’t it. She’s about Eckhart’s size, but her hair is longer, inky black curls haloed around her head, and her features are…different. Almost like Eckhart, but her lips are bigger, her cheekbones sharper –

You look down, and the Ourobouros rests between her bruised breasts, glowing slightly. As you watch, the glow fades away – you raise your eyes back to her face, and her eyes blink open. Three of them – there’s three, one sitting in the center of her forehead, all of them a brilliant amethyst.

“Ryan, isn’t it?” she purrs, and it’s Lust’s voice. You freeze up, and her hand raises to stroke your chin. “My, my, you’re a handsome one.” The purple eyes take you in with a slow eroticism, eyes lingering on the erection visible through your jeans.

“You –“ You don’t know _what_ to say.

“Don’t worry. She’s still here. But this body is mine now.” She levers herself upright with a groan. There’s an extra arm on her left side, you realize, and almost want to laugh. It feels like you’re seeing double. “Hmm! She did a decent job, all things considered. She lifts her right arm and caresses herself, long nails stroking over her nipple, touching the red marks the tentacles left on the soft flesh. “What do _you_ think, Ryan?” she purrs.

Uh. “I – think you look beautiful,” you stammer out, which is the most you can manage.

“More beautiful than before?”

Well, that’s a trick question if you’ve ever heard one. “You’re – bigger.”

“Hm? I suppose I am.” She strokes her breast again, then stands up, walking over to the mirror and turning to look at her ass. “Hmm, it’s alright, I suppose. I can do better, though.” She gives it a playful smack, and an embarrassed look crosses her face – then it’s shoved aside. Lust snaps the fingers on her third arm, and there’s a shower of red sparks as the soft flesh expands into a perfect bubble butt. She grabs her new, round ass and gives it a shake, digging her nails into it. “ _Perfect,_ ” she purrs. “Don’t you think, Ryan?”

You tear your eyes away. “Uh?”

“Aha! He _likes_ it.” She turns to you and strokes your chin – the third arm wanders down your chest, touching your erection lightly at first, then grabbing the rock-hard shaft through your jeans. “You were enjoying _all_ of that, weren’t you?” she whispers.

You shake your head, but you know she doesn’t believe you. “I – you –“

“Come on, Ryan. I’m in her head. I know everything. She’s been _watching_ you, you know. She likes the way you look at her.” Her lips linger close to yours, red as blood and toxic. “She’s been _getting off_ to it.”

This time you know what you’re seeing – the light in her eyes changes, and so does the colour, shifting to brown for a split second of horrified embarrassment before Lust regains control. “Dietlinde?” you ask, but it’s too late.

“Forget about _her,_ ” Lust tuts. She tosses her hair, and with another shower of red sparks, her hair is short and blonde again. “ _I’m_ here.” You can feel her slowly unzipping your jeans. “And I have been lost in that void for a very, _very_ long time.”

“If you’re Lust, how can you shapeshift?” You try to back away – not because she isn’t _incredibly_ gorgeous, but because this isn’t how it was supposed to go –

“Things get muddled in the Gate. I suppose Envy died at some point as well – although in _there,_ we can’t really talk to each other.” She raises another of her hands to her face, shifting it from one colour to the next. “I suppose this is a present from him.” There’s a hint of wistfulness, and you stop trying to get away. This is _Lust,_ after all. One of the good ones. And who wouldn’t want a little bit of company.

And _god,_ you’ve wanted Dietlinde since the first moment you saw her. What harm could it do?

Lust must see your decision on your face, because she laughs, and pulls you to her in a bruising kiss. You can taste something raw and bitter on her tongue, the remnants of the occult electricity that brought her back to life. Slowly, she crawls onto her hands and knees, pulling you with her onto the carpeted floor, and guides your hands to her plump ass.

“I-is this okay-“

“Shut up and fuck me,” she orders, and you flush from head to toe as she turns away from you and raises her ass into the air, wiggling it slightly. You can’t unbuckle your belt fast enough – god, you’re so hard it _hurts –_ and she pushes a hand between her legs, ignoring the slit between her legs and stroking a long-fingered hand around her puckered asshole.

“You want your first time with her to be memorable, don’t you?” she purrs, ignoring the very obvious fact that it already _is._ “Come here, big boy.”

Like an unwanted guest, the Gate rises in the back of your head. _Be as rough as you like. She’s teasing you. She knows what she wants._ You know it’s trying to get a rise out of you. It’s working.

You reach forward and grab a handful of her hair and push her face into the carpet. With your other hand, you grab your cock, and start to work it into her tight hole. A thrill goes through you as Lust/Dietlinde lets out a whimper of pain, and you don’t know _who_ it’s from –

-your head is inside now, and it’s so tight it almost _hurts,_ and still you keep pushing, working her open. Her perfect ass is shaking with each inch you slide into her, and you can see tears on her face, but as you bottom out in her, the moans stop sounding so much like pain.

“Ah…you’re so _big,_ ” Lust murmurs, her breathing coming hard and fast. She slides her ass slightly off of you, then slams it back home, another gasp of mixed pain and pleasure leaving her lips. As she does, her ass balloons again, getting a little bigger.

You release her hair, squeezing her ass cheeks and thrusting into her again. With each thrust, her ass gets fatter, soft flesh spilling between your tight fingers. Soon it’s unbelievably big, spilling onto the floor and pressing against your thighs. It’s like fucking a pillow, but her hole is just as tight and warm as before.

She sprawls onto the floor, knees collapsing under the weight of her massive butt – then her head cocks, and you stop, buried deep inside her. Something is growing on her shoulder, twisting out of the pale flesh –

You watch, entranced, until the shapeless mass finishes sprouting from Lust’s shoulder, sprouting hair and molding itself into a face that’s almost the twin of the one next to it. Then, Dietlinde turns her head to face you with a scowl – and drives her (their?) massive ass back against you, slamming you back against the wall. “This is _my_ body! Not some vile _intruder’s!_ ”

“You’re just jealous because I got to fuck him first,” Lust teases. You can hear the challenge in it, but Dietlinde responds to it without even thinking. Above their stretched-out hole, still filled with your cock, the bottom of their spine swells. A tail erupts from it with a shower of sparks, and you lift your hands to your face, terror almost overriding the fact that you’re still fucking her. Almost.

Even with your eyes covered, you can’t ignore the tail – it caresses your face, thick and warm and scaley. You flinch away from it, but your cock twitches inside Dietlinde/Lust’s tight asshole, and _god_ you shouldn’t be enjoying this so much…

Then the tail pulls away, and you lower your hands curiously. Lust is staring at the tail with trepidation, and you realize that _Dietlinde_ has control of the writhing, red appendage – and it lashes down and buries itself in their wet cunt.

Lust bites down on her red lips, but she can’t muffle her scream of pleasure. She writhes away, pulling herself off your cock with a ‘pop’ and rolling on her back, but she can’t get away from the tail attached to her own body. It works deeper and deeper into her, and her second head bites down on her cheek with a smirk. “You like that, you _slut?_ ”

“S-stop,” Lust tries to say, but Dietlinde simply grabs Lust’s throat and reaches down with her arm, rubbing their clit as the massive tail reaches deeper and deeper into them. Their stomach starts to distend, the coils of the dragon tail pressed tight against the flesh.

            There’s another distortion, this time at the junction of their new tail and their enormous buttocks. The new growth is whip-thin, with a thick bulge on the end, and you catch sight of a wicked grin growing on Lust’s face as the tail sprouts out of their spine. She’s choking now, face turning purple, but Dietlinde’s dragon-tail is slick with fluid. Every thrust of it sends another gush from Lust’s soaked cunt rolling down her fat thighs.

            The new tail coils around on itself, and begins to tease at Lust’s freshly-fucked asshole. Dietlinde’s freezes up, her fingers releasing Lust’s throat, and with a predatory smirk, Lust spreads her legs more widely, teasing her asshole and pulling the thicker tail out of her womb, fucking herself more gently with harder, faster thrusts. “Ahh.. That’s more like it.” She arches her back, just-so-coincidentally giving you an even better view.

With each thrust, her curvy breasts jiggle, bouncing against Lust and Dietlinde’s chins. Your hand wanders down to your cock, stroking it with a distracted wonder. A moment later, another shower of sparks glistens over Lust/Eckhart’s tits, and they start swelling, the flesh stretching over them as they bloat. They’re big enough now that instead of bouncing, they shake, fat trembling as it rests on their thin torso.

Lust withdraws the rest of the dragon tail from her pussy, and she gapes grotesquely open for a moment before her homunculus healing powers start working, drawing the flesh closed. “Ahh…” she moans, and you realize even the mending process is erotic. You can’t resist any longer, and you reach forward, rubbing your hand down Lust/Dietlinde’s thigh.

Both of them shudder, and their legs close around you, pulling your face deep into their crotch. Your world fills with the scent of their cunt, and you close your eyes and open your mouth obediently, pushing your tongue as deep as it will go. Their breasts are still growing, and you feel the undersides of them brush against the top of your head.

“Good boy, Ryan,” Dietlinde gasps, and their legs tighten around you. The dragon tail loops around your neck, squeezing just tightly enough to hurt.

Then the coils slam you back against the wall, and you gasp, plaster giving way behind your back. She’s _strong –_ stronger than you imagined. Before the black flashes clear from your sight, there’s three hands at your cock, and two pairs of hungry lips at your cock, lips and tongues licking and sucking and gently biting at you.

You would reach down, but the tail has you so high on your knees that all you can do is grapple at the wall. You manage to glance down, and can’t decide whether you should have or not. You can’t tell who’s making which changes, but the monster-woman’s massive breasts pillow on the floor, her thick thighs shimmering faintly with the same scales decorating her tail. You strain again, and what you took for marks on the mountainous breasts pinning your legs to the wall open all at once – they’re more of Lust’s eyes, shimmering purple and gazing up at you.

You can’t tell if those are real or not. At least not right away. It’s not until Lust lifts her mouth from your cock and runs a gentle, clawed finger over the rise of her breast, barely touching the eyelids, that you realize that _she_ put them there and not the Gate, making mockery of your reality again. “Do you like them, Ryan?”

You nod, and the eyes blink back at you, sparkling in the dim light.

“Shut up, bitch,” Dietlinde snarls, and Lust’s arm suddenly jolts up, grabbing her own hair and forcing it back down onto your cock. You whine at the warmth of it, and Lust’s eyes water, her cheeks hollowing around your shaft. The eyes on her tits are watering too, you realize with horrified wonder – and to your _own_ dismay, only get harder. The more monstrous they look, the more you’re at their mercy.

Dietlinde jerks Lust’s head back and forth, but behind her, you see the demon tail, thin and whiplike, rise – and come down over their fat ass with a crack that splits the air.

“ _Agh!_ ” she cries out, releasing Lust’s head, and Lust takes the opportunity to pull your shaft out of her tight throat, her own spit dripping down her chin and into the eyes, which all blink furiously at once. All but two of them vanish, shifted away, and then the demon tail comes down again, and Dietlinde gives another desperate cry.

“Mm, I’m not the bitch crying over being whipped,” Lust teases, although you can see how she winces at each snap. _She must feel everything just as strongly._ The tail comes down again, and this time, Lust gasps too, and their body flinches, every part of them shaking again.

Dietlinde’s teeth sharpen in her mouth, canines jutting out over her lip, and she lunges for Lust – ready to bleed herself dry to rid of herself of the intruder – but the scaled tail pulls away from your throat and latches around hers instead. You fall back down to your knees, limbs shaking, still _so close_ to orgasm – but you wait and watch.

“Is that any way to behave? I thought you wanted my _help,_ ” Lust teases, and plants a kiss on Dietlinde’s lips. She tries to pull away – and can’t. The skin of their lips is sizzling red, fusing together, and a moment later, there’s nothing but an expanse of flesh between the two. You can see the sudden panic in Lust’s eyes, and Dietlinde backs her down, their faces fusing closer and closer together, tongues twining and pressing against their cheeks. Their noses fuse too, and you hold your breath, waiting for one of them to break free…

There’s a moment of silence, where the only breaths taken are yours, and the other sound is the wet sound of their thighs rubbing together. Then Lust yanks free, tearing her lips from Dietlinde’s and bows her head ever-so-slightly to her in a moment of weakness.

The victor simply continues to transform, their body splitting through the middle, massive breasts separating until they both have a full set, a little smaller than before – Now they’re joined at the hip, twins in all but hair colour and length. Lust’s hair is long and curling; Dietlinde has her own hair back, short and blonde.

You look down at their legs, still spread invitingly, and Dietlinde’s clit is growing, poking out of its folds until it’s the size of your hand. For a moment you think you’re being invited to suck on it, and you’re half drooling at the thought, but then Dietlinde grabs Lust’s hair again – and pushes her _downwards._

Oh.

Lust’s crimson lips close around the massive clit, and Dietlinde gives a scream of pleasure, muffled when she bites down on her own lip. Her thighs shake, and she thrusts up into Lust’s mouth, gasping with each movement. “Aah! Take it you – stupid – _bitch –_ “ and you realize that Lust can feel the aching clit, Dietlinde can feel Lust’s lips – it’s like watching a snake eat its own tail.

Dietlinde’s fingers tighten in Lust’s hair so hard that you can see her scalp tighten, and then, their entire body trembles, their massive tits and thighs and ass all shaking, and Dietlinde almost bites through her lip as the orgasm tears through her. Then she and Lust both slump over, tremors still running through them. Slowly, they fuse back together, flesh sliding back into other, Lust’s cheek pressing against and into Dietlinde’s, until they’re one person again.

Your turn.

You get shakily to your feet, your cock a mass of throbbing heat between your legs. Dietlinde mirrors you, although you can’t tell who’s in control. Perhaps both of them at once. “Ryan –“

You shut her up with a kiss, sliding your tongue into her mouth. You’ve had enough of watching them entertain each other. A moment later, _she’s_ the one against the wall, and you’re holding her still-massive tits in your hand, fingers playing with her nipples –

One of her tails lashes around your leg, pulling you closer. Her three eyes are glinting, sharp cheekbones flush and shiny with sweat. “Fuck me,” she orders, and even though your arms are protesting against the weight of her massive ass and tits, you drive yourself into her pussy in one smooth thrust.

"Ah! G-good boy..." she gasps, and digs your teeth into your neck. You wince at her sharp teeth, but it sends a shot of fire down into your stomach, and you slam your hips against her even harder. Her cunt is unbelievably soft, sending juices running down your legs, and you can feel her massive clit rubbing against your stomach with every thrust.

"Harder!" she demands - and when you try, she instead pushes you to the ground, and mounts you with a primal growl. Your cock slides back into her, and she starts slamming her ass against you. It hurts, but you can't find it in you to care about that when she's so tight around you...

It's still not enough for her, and her dragon tail flashes behind her. A heartbeat later, something squeezes against your cock, rubbing against you through the narrow wall between her ass and her cunt. She's fucking her ass with the dragon tail this time, and she's so _tight_ now, tight enough that you can barely control yourself.

You manage to hold onto your composure long enough to wrap one of your hands around her clit, the other braced on your clit. She's already so sensitive from her last orgasm that it's only a few moments later than her legs spasm against your hips, and she cries out again -

-and that's when you let yourself cum, thrusting wildly into her and burying yourself as deep as you can into her soft cunt. She leans over you, her pussy wringing every last ounce out of you, and in between flashes of white, you watch her lean down over you. "You're so good to me," she whispers, and you can't tell if it's borne of lust or genuine emotion, but she kisses you with a sweetness you didn't expect.

She tucks her head under your chin, and you don't know which of them it is now, but that doesn't matter right now.

A few moments later, she stirs, and her ass and tits slowly shrink back to normal. The look on her face suggests that the act of changing herself is erotic; you certainly think it is, but there's something else entirely to the fact that _she's_ getting off on it.

"Who are you right now?" you ask.

"D-Dietlinde," she sighs. Her clit is still massive - she strokes it as it shrinks, with a lazy seductiveness. "I won. She's still here, though."

"What does winning mean?"

Dietlinde's mouth crooks into a wicked smile. "It means that, for now, I'm in charge."

You wonder how long that will hold out. You know enough about Lust to know that that won't sit well with her.

She gets to her feet, and you notice she's kept _some_ of the changes - the dragon tail is gone, but the demon one whips back and forth from her spine. Her ass and tits are perkier and fatter than before too, and she stops briefly in front of the mirror, stroking her new cleavage.

Your cum starts rolling down her leg, and she quivers at the sensation. Then she turns to you. "Come to bed."

"Bed?"

"We've had enough excitement for one day, don't you think? And besides -" She pinches one of her own nipples, rolling it between thumb and finger. "Lust has given me lots of wonderful ideas about how to take revenge on those freaks."

"Ideas?"

She smiles into the mirror, and she's still aroused, at the thought of hurting people, the thought of revenge. "I'm going to make them _scream._ One at a time."

You can’t wait.


	4. Part Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW for character death, gore, animal transformation, non-con, torture, vore, mild bestiality.... All in all, it's gross. If you like that kind of thing, by all means, keep reading.

                You’re not sure how to feel about the Gate becoming more comfortable. The first time, it nearly tore you apart. The second time, it teased you and tortured you.

                This time, the third time, it speaks to you like a friend.

                _Did you like my present?_

 _Present?_ You ask, but you know what it means. You try not to answer, try to close your eyes, but the gold light penetrates the flesh of your eyelids. There is no rest here.

                _The homunculus. You asked for her._

_I did._

_She is to your liking?_

_Yes,_ you admit. Not out loud, but the Gate steals the words from you. The Gate knows the truth. How can it not?

                It laughs, and Eckhart’s hand tightens in yours, and you are there again.

\---

                It’s Lust’s voice that echoes through the empty city first, once you manage to wake and look past the thousand eyes staring at you again. They’re worse on this side, you realize. Perhaps because they know you don’t belong here.

                “I remember this place,” she says, with a curl of her lip. “How ironic.”

                Of course. This was one of Dante’s homes. You see a flicker of fear in Lust’s purple eyes, but it subsides, and the eyes lighten into blue. “We have more power on our side now. And I want him de-“

                “ _No,_ ” you say suddenly, and Eckhart recoils, fury darkening her face.

                “No?”

                “Edward is the most important man in the _country._ ” You’re terrified of her, but there’s spite in your chest, too. How could she be so _stupid?_ “One at a time is a good idea. I’ll help you. But he comes last. Take out his bodyguards and protectors first. And then he’ll be open for attack.”

                She splutters. “Just because you – you –“ She rises over you, baring her sharp teeth, and you shake a little, but stand your ground. Then, Eckhart pauses, chewing on her lip. In a quieter voice, she continues. “It seems I’m outnumbered.”

                “Eh?”

                She sinks down to her proper height. “Lust has her own misgivings about the Elric boy,” she says lightly, but you catch the weight of it. If Lust remembers this place, she remembers Edward’s kindness. She and Eckhart have entirely opposing views of him, you realize – and you’re the one with the complete picture.

                _There’s no guarantee that’s a full picture, either,_ you remind yourself. “So what first, if not Edward?”

                Eckhart grins, a sadistic light shining in her eyes. “I know just the bitch to hurt first.”

\---

                The three of you find Riza Hawkeye in a small townhouse downtown. One of Eckhart and Lust’s new gifts is a sense of smell that rivals any tracking you can possibly offer, and the moon shines down on her as she strides down the street, growing larger and larger with each step. You follow behind, watching with an excited helplessness and wondering what will happen next. The uncertainty of all this keeps you going, just as much as your endlessly-growing infatuation.

                Her feet crack against the pavement, large and clawed. They both like the monstrousness of this form – clad in black armour that shifts and moves and absorbs the warm light of the streetlamps like a black hole.

                They approach the townhouse, and you can hear the low voices from inside. Eckhart and Lust reach forward and rip the door off of its hinges, and the conversation stops dead. You stay behind her, too aware of your own mortality, but you can hear their footsteps.

                One voice, not Hawkeye’s, speaks up first. “We know what you are.” Brave, with a shake in it.

                Eckhart and Lust step forward, and let the black armour fall a little, revealing their fused face. “ _Really,_ now?” It’s a dual voice, layered with malice.

                You can see the room now. Riza’s in the middle, shirtless with a bandage around her middle – it looks like your bullet got her after all. Three other women flank her, guns at the ready. They don’t look scared enough, and you’re not sure why that makes you so angry – you lift your gun, but Eckhart and Lust waggle their arm at you.

                “Put it _down,_ Ryan. I’ve got this well under control.”

                “You’re outnumbered, monster.” The woman speaking is short and thin, with bobbed black hair and a clipped voice.

                “Define outnumbered,” Eckhart growls with barely concealed glee. The black-haired woman takes a step forward, bracing herself to shoot – Eckhart’s arm shoots forward, shifting into a black tentacle and wrapping around the hapless soldier’s arms. The gun falls from her shaking fingers.

                “ _Lennis!_ ” cries out another soldier, running forward, but Riza grabs her, keeping her from coming to her friend’s defense.

                Lennis struggles against Eckhart’s grip, and then the two of them are speaking together again, their voices distorted around too many teeth – “You look a little _small –_ but you’ll do as an appetizer.”

                The woman freezes in fear. Then Eckhart and Lust open their mouth, and it keeps opening, their lips peeling open until their head opens almost in half, their maw an impossible void – and the tentacle turns Lennis upside down and stuffs her in, head first. She starts screaming as the teeth graze her shoulders, and even if it’s muffled in their throat, you can still hear it. The tentacle keeps pushing her in, and you can see the lump of her head writhe further and further down Eckhart’s humanoid throat.

Soon her torso is almost gone, twitching hands still struggling to hold onto something. Her ass jiggles as she keeps fighting against Eckhart’s throat muscles, but then with a ‘pop’ she vanishes into the monster’s gut, reduced to a considerable bulge in Eckhart’s stomach.

                Eckhart and Lust grin. “Who’s next?”

                Another of the women is reaching for their radio, watching the monster with caution and fear warring in their eyes; you raise your gun, aim carefully and before she can do more than pull it from her belt, it shatters in her hand. She screams in both pain and surprise, and turns her furious eyes on you, red hair falling loose from her bun.

                “You’re _helping_ her?”

You just nod, not trusting your voice. They don’t understand. How could you possibly do anything else?

                “Careless, watch yourself-!” Hawkeye calls out in terror, but to no avail.

                She runs for you, but Eckhart/Lust reaches out lazily, brushing a black hand over their shoulder. The light touch is enough to stop her in her tracks; she freezes, pupils dilating into pinpricks. “What – what’s happening to me?”

                Slowly, Eckhart’s black blood starts creeping down her shoulder. Careless’s eyes flicker to it, and then a gasp of horror leaves her lips as her uniform starts to melt into it. The fabric slowly tears away from her body, stitches tearing from stitches. Her pudgy breasts strain against the tightening uniform, but to no avail – and then they fall free, her chubby stomach jiggling underneath them.

The black blood creeps down her body, coating her in a fine, oily sheen, and you glance up at her eyes again, wild and dancing. Her gasps have turned into a different kind of moan, and you wonder what kind of chemicals are in the black blood to infect her like this. “G-god,” she whimpers, and as her underwear is chewed up by the substance, you can see the fluids leaking down her legs.

“Are you enjoying the show, Ryan?” purrs Lust’s voice from the fusion’s lips. You lick your own lips, which have gone very dry. Lust and Eckhart are doing this for _your_ benefit.

Even better, it’s working. The arousal coiling in your stomach is proof enough of that, and the thickness of your erection straining against your jeans. You take a step forward, stroking the barrel of your gun over her sweat-stained cheek, watching the nerves in her flesh twitch. “Yes,” you reply breathlessly.

The black blood is creeping up Careless’s face now, and Eckhart draws her in, glorying in the horrified, frozen faces of the two women left behind. Careless sinks into her chest, and it looks like she’s drowning in black water, lips parted in an ‘o’ in ecstasy. Then the ecstasy breaks – and she screams, something warping at her stomach. Another face appears at her stomach, and your heart skips as you recognize the face of the first woman. Then both of them sink into the black blood, absorbed into Eckhart and Lust’s body, and the screams stop.

The silence in the room is deafening. The two women left cowering against the wall are silent, the dog hiding behind their legs. You aim the gun at Riza’s friend, something urging you something urging you to shoot now, to watch the bullet go through her pretty little head, watch her brains splatter on the wall behind her -

 

-the eyes of the Gate open on the far wall, gazing at you with an entertained curiosity. Then a heartbeat later, a gun fires - not yours. The bullet slides past you, and you barely dodge it, wincing as it grazes your cheek. Blood drips down your cheek, and your heart skips a beat. _That was close._

 

Eckhart's eyes flicker purple - Lust, this time, you realize - and she lifts her hand, nails shooting out like claws. They pin the hapless ravenette to the wall by her shoulder, and you recognize her faintly - Rebecca Catalina, that was her name.

 

"Rebecca -?" "Riza, _run!_ "

 

Riza makes a mad dash for the door, but you catch her, pushing her to the ground and bending an arm behind her back, another piercing feeling of arousal sliding through your groin as she fights back. God, you never thought that this - _this -_ would be -

 

The dog goes for you, growling, but you kick out, and its small body smacks against the doorway, and Riza cries out in horror. "Hayate!"

 

"Shut up," Lust snarls. "I remember you. Both of you." She twists the nails in Rebecca's shoulder, and Rebecca screams in pain, her feet barely touching the ground. "You're soldiers. You were - were in Ishval." Her eyes glaze over slightly. "Funny. What you remember after a stint in the Gate."

 

Neither Riza nor Rebecca know what she's talking about. But you do. This isn't just revenge for Eckhart, for the implied slight of defeat. This is a deeper, darker kind of revenge.

 

"What should I do to you, then?" Lust purrs. She shifts her shared body until her black hair falls down her back, long and perfect, but instead of her porcelain skin, it's dark, the colour of burnt sand and eyes the colour of the setting desert sun. She licks her red lips at Rebecca's face of horror, then something swells along her nails, pushing into Rebecca's shoulder. A moment later, she yanks the nails away, face hard and cold.

 

Rebecca catches her breath, gasping for air. At first, she thinks she's been spared. You can feel Riza relax under you, just barely. But then the relieved half-smile vanishes, and she looks down at her stomach. "What - what did you -"

 

Lust just smiles.

 

Rebecca rips off her uniform jacket in a panic. Under the tank-top, her stomach is visibly swelling, growing larger and larger. Her breasts are expanding too, nipples poking through the thin black fabric as it stretches. It's a small change at first - her tank top rolls up, her belly button distending - and then stretch marks start appearing, white and vivid on the flesh. Then the straps of her tank top stretch, more and more. Her breasts get bigger and bigger, until they pop over the top of her shirt, sagging down to meet the rolls of flesh gathering over her belt.

 

"S-stop!" she cries out. "I was _barely_ in Ishval! I - _please -_ "

 

"Please what?" Lust says calmly. Then she turns to you, eyes flat. "Ryan. You're enjoying yourself, aren't you?"

 

You nod, and Riza whimpers underneath you.

 

Lust nods at Rebecca, who is howling with the pain of the forced expansion. "Go give her something to complain about."

 

You didn't think you could get harder, but you do, and Riza sobs quietly as she feels your erection against her. But she's not interesting right now. Instead, you get to your feet, unbuckling your belt with a hiss of breath.

 

Rebecca is clawing at the wall to keep herself upright, and she's turned her back to you. Her uniform pants are tearing at the seams, her ass expanding just as fast as her tits and stomach. Her belt is the worst (or best) part - it cuts cruelly into her stomach, and you can see that it's just as tight as ever.

 

You come up behind her, and grind your crotch against her fat ass, eliciting a horrified squeak from her. "What's the matter, Catalina?" God, the _power_ is getting to you. You reach down and pluck the gun from her fingers. It's empty, but that doesn't make it any less fun to play with. "Having trouble?"

"Fu-fuck you, mouth breather," she gasps, wincing as the belt squeezes her stomach. The fat is spilling out of either side of it, giving her the mother of all hourglass shapes, and you hook two fingers into it, tightening it even further. Then you reach up and grab her massive tits, digging your nails into the soft flesh. You loved it when Eckhart and Lust did this - but there's an extra layer of taboo when it's somebody who didn't ask for it, didn't want it, who is fighting back even through the pain.

 

"Please," she whispers in horror. "Please, you don't have to do this -"

 

You thrust even harder against her plump ass, and shove the barrel of the gun into her mouth to shut her up. The loose sleeves of her jacket are filling up with her fleshy, expanding arms. You can see the threads giving way, and you pull at them, mostly to tease her. She resembles a balloon now, ass and breasts and stomach all horribly inflated, and you push a knee between her fattening legs as well, feeling them push against you.

 

"Mm!" She mumbles wordlessly around the gun in her mouth, tears streaming down her mouth. She's bigger than you now, but that doesn't stop you - quite the opposite.

 

Finally, with a crack, the belt breaks, and she lets out a groan as her stomach finally falls loose. She's almost perfectly round and you decide to stop wasting time, tearing away her almost-ruined pants and stretched-out underwear. You drop the fabric then throw her to the floor, where she rests on her ass, legs sprawled out. She's round enough now that her pussy is at the level of your crotch, and you pull out your cock, sinking yourself into her without waiting another moment.

 

"No!" she cries out, but her arms are so puffed up that she can't move them. Her jacket is shreds now, her tank top a tatter of fabric mostly hidden under her breasts, and her massive tits are pressing against her neck. Her cheeks start to purple, and her cunt, already tight from the inflation, pulses around you, muscles spasming.

 

You grab hold of her thighs, sinking your fingers into them, and use them as handles as you drive in and out of her tight pussy. It's an amazing feeling, and you can feel your orgasm building inside your stomach.

 

"R-rebecca-"

You turn your head. Lust has shifted back into the fusion between her and Eckhart, and Eckhart's trademark slasher smile is planted on their face as they hold Riza against them. She's struggling, both Lennis and Careless's fate fresh in her mind, but Eckhart and Lust barely seem to notice or care - they're too busy pawing at her crotch while watching you.

Rebecca's grown so big in your arms that you can barely hold onto her, and with a sense of regret, you step back, pulling out of her with a ‘pop’. She moans, although it comes out as a hissing breath from her strangling throat, and the veins in her fat arms and legs press against the skin –

You take a step back, then another, and Rebecca gives you a despairing look as she swells huger and huger, and then in barely an instant, she explodes. You hold up your arm, and it protects you from most of the spray of blood. Then you lower it, heart beating fast. You hadn’t expected that.

A few seconds later, a scream echoes through the room. Riza’s composure has finally snapped, and her eyes are shaking in their sockets as she stares at the lump of organs and bones in the middle of the room. “Bec – _Becca!_ ”

Eckhart/Lust slaps her, and that rings too, flesh-against-flesh around the hollow room. The rest of them are dead. That just leaves Riza Hawkeye,

 

Just when you think you're safe, though, there's a snarl, and suddenly Black Hayate is snapping at your heels, fire in his eyes. He's here to protect his mistress - you kick out with a boot, and he whines, backing away from you with a whimper. Then he goes for you again -

 

"Hayate! Stop!" Riza calls out, and he grinds to a halt on the ground, giving her a questioning look. You pull out your gun, ready to shoot him, but a glance at Eckhart and Lust shows you they're shaking their head.

 

"What are we doing, then?" "I have a better idea." She lets go of Riza, and Riza runs towards her dog, scooping him up in her arms before facing the two of you with a stubborn but fearful look.

 

You take a step back. It's Eckhart's turn again.

 

Eckhart extends a claw and starts carving something into the ground. Riza looks on in growing horror as the transmutation circle starts taking shape on the ground, and she takes a nervous step back, but Eckhart just glances up at her with a smile.

 

"I'll make a deal with you, Hawkeye," Eckhart and Lust purr as one. "Step into this circle, with your dog, and you'll live. Refuse..." She eyes you. "And he'll rape your ass until I feel fit to put you out of misery."

 

You can see the trembling running up and down Eckhart's body. She eyes you, perhaps wondering if there's an ally in you somewhere - like you're being _forced_ to serve your lady, like you didn't just get to fuck the fattest woman alive before she exploded, like somehow you're suffering.

 

"N-no," she says as boldly as she can manage. Even though her voice is quavering, it's a remarkably strong stand.

 

Eckhart narrows her eyes. Then she takes a step forward, reaching her hand out - and the black blood expands out. She grabs first Riza's left arm with it, and then her right, jerking them down onto the floor, and Riza topples with a scream.

 

Your turn.

 

You step forward and grab the waistband of her uniform pants, tearing them down and smirking appreciatively at her whimper. "Not so tough now, are y-"

 

She kicks out at you, and her boot hits your nose with a sickening crack. You reel backwards, and all you can see is red as blood splashes up onto your face, mixing with Rebecca’s blood on your skin –

 

“Bitch!” you snarl, and tear her pants off the rest of the way, bringing your fist down on the back of her knee. Something crunches, and she whimpers in pain, drawing her legs in and away from you –

 

“You started this,” you growl at her, kicking at her side. There’s the sound of something breaking – her rib, you imagine – and the black blood releases her, letting her roll onto her back, pants still down by her ankles. Her hand flings out, reaching for Black Hayate, and you tread onto her fingers, slowly putting more and more pressure onto them –

 

“Please, stop,” she begs, but the plaintive note in her voice just turns you on even more, and you end up stroking yourself as her fingers snap under the heel of your boot.

  
“Ryan,” warns Eckhart/Lust. She rises to her full height, whatever that means – eight feet tall, hair blonde now and falling down her back in loose waves. The black blood is gone for now, massive breasts barely contained by their dress and the swollen stomach underneath still digesting the remains of Careless and Lennis. “Bring her here.” They indicate the circle in front of them with one of their three arms, six-fingered hand clad in a silken glove.

 

You lift the broken Riza from the ground, but she shys away from you. “I can do it,” she murmurs. She tries to stand, one of her knees at a wicked angle, and limps horrifically to the circle. You’re upset you’re missing out on fucking her, but Rebecca’s cunt was tight enough for you. Besides, you can’t wait to see what Eckhart and Lust have in mind for her.

 

She collapses into the circle.

 

“Your dog, too,” Eckhart commands, red lips smiling.

 

Riza nods in exhaustion. She sits up, blood running from a cut above her eyebrow - you're not sure who's responsible for that one, but it runs into her eyebrow and turns one side of her face red. "Hayate," she calls out, voice drained. "Hayate - here, boy..."

 

Black Hayate whimpers, and gives you a distrusting look. That's fine. You hate that stupid dog _(is there anything much you don't hate,_ whispers the Gate) and you're tempted to shoot it, but it runs off into its master's arms, and she gathers him up and holds her tightly to her chest. The dog licks Riza's cheeks, nuzzling blood off of her face, the blood from her hands (Rebecca's blood) mixing into its fur -

 

"How sweet," mocks Eckhart, her voice dominant again. She presses her foot to the circle, giving Riza no time to prepare - the blue light ignites the room with electricity as the circle suffuses both Riza and Black Hayate in its incandescent glow.

 

Just for a moment, flashing in and out of existence, the Gate appears, and you forget to breathe. How could you ever have been scared of it? It's beautiful - a dusky afterimage in the blood-stained room, a reminder of where you came from, the power that your loved one and mistress now holds in her very core.

 

The Gate's doors don't open, atlhough you can hear its whisper still. Then the light fades, and you can see what Eckhart is doing to the target of her revenge.

 

At first, it looks like Riza is still clasping Hayate to her breast, Then the light finally clears from your eyes, and you blink, the details finally becoming clear. Hayate's head is too far forward - it's fused into the bones of Riza's shoulder, his tail still faintly wagging as his legs sink into her stomach. As you watch, the fusing continues - Riza's clothes are melting into her skin, her hair tainted with the black of Hayate's fur.

 

Finally, with a howl of pain that's lost its humanity, she falls forward onto her hands and knees in the circle. Hayate's features are twisting now, his snout elongating like taffy, and a whine leaves his twisted face as he digs his claws into Riza's shoulder.

 

Then he almost disappears, and a ripple of black fur crosses Riza's blue-tainted skin, the patterns of her uniform still visible through the hair. Riza howls again, tears pouring down her face and hands clawing at the floor - and another howl joins her as a head rips out of her shoulder. It's bloodier than Eckhart's was - like Hayate was waiting under her skin.

 

"Please!" she screams, raising her head - their heads - to Eckhart, who stands stony and impassive in front of them. The floor around them is red - bright red. You'll never think that Eckhart's fusion with Lust was terrifying again - compared to this, it was a pleasure to watch, a _mercy._

 

"Please what?" Eckhart mocks, face splitting into a broad, toothy smile. "Should I _stop?_ And leave you like this forever? That just seems cruel. I should at least attempt to give you a body worth using."

 

There's a horrid crunch, and Riza's legs twist inwards, bones shifting and grinding under her skin, and she screams again. They're turning into dog legs, ankles twisted outwards, shins extending until Riza's ass is suspended in the air well above her head. The last vestiges of her uniform shirt falls away into scraps onto the floor, and Riza's tits fall out, jiggling as she strains against the transmutation, nipples swelling until they take up nearly a third of her small breasts.

 

Hayate's head reaches for the scraps with his sharp teeth extended, but the motion sends them toppling to the floor on their side, Riza/Hayate's legs scrabbling on the ground. Riza's army-issue boots split on the sides, and massive, hairless paws explode out of them, claws scratching at the hardwood. Her hands are affected too, splitting at the wrist until there's a hand and a paw both attached to her wrist, the human hands enclosed over the paws and fused by the skin.

 

Eckhart puts her hands on her hips. "What's the matter, doggy?" she taunts. "Tired of begging?"

 

Riza opens her mouth, trying to beg for mercy again, but all that comes out is a low, desperate whine. Inside her mouth are two lines of teeth - one of them human, the other with extended canines arcing down below her flat ones. "Rrrr..." she growls.

 

Eckhart laughs, and steps off of the circle. The light dies away completely, and the abomination at her feet flops onto its back. It spreads its naked legs, and in the bare patch between its legs you can see where Hayate's dog-cock has fused with Riza's clit, leaving her with an engorged clit-cock that bobs above her pussy lips.

 

"You can't even stand up, can you?" Eckhart laughs and presses her foot back onto the circle, lighting up the abomination again. Riza's tits swell and expand, leaving stretchmarks on the sides, and Riza/Hayate whimpers again. Eckhart hasn't bothered making the process painless - in fact, she's delighting in the agony she's causing, the black blood dancing over her skin like a shimmering oil tapestry.

 

Worst of all for Riza - at least, you imagine - is that the clit-cock between her legs is stiffening even more. It takes you a moment to clue in, but even as it occurs to you, Eckhart voices it out loud.

 

"Your puppy was in heat, wasn't he?"

 

Both Riza and Hayate growl at that one, even though the proof is between their legs, getting thicker with each moment. Their clit twitches, and you're both sickened and turned on by the sight. Riza is sweating, and it's not just from pain, you realize - the heat is affecting her more and more with each passing second.

 

Eckhart laughs cruelly. "Oh, that's _precious._ How do you like having a cock, Hawkeye? Does it hurt?"

 

Riza whimpers, and Eckhart shifts her foot into a bladed heel, resting it on Riza's spread thigh. She presses down, and the blade pierces the skin, bringing a bead of blood to the dark-furred surface, and Riza lets out another howl, shivering under Eckhart's foot.

 

"Poor puppy," she croons. She smacks her fingers against her thigh. "Roll over, puppy!"

 

Riza glares up at her, but then the light in her eyes fades into a glassy obedience. Eckhart pulls her foot away, and Riza rolls onto her hands and knees. Hayate's tail is attached to the base of her spine, just above her puckered asshole, and the tail shifts just enough to let you see her slit again, dripping juice onto the concrete below.

 

Eckhart lowers herself to her knees, and caresses Riza's patchwork hair with one hand, then moves over to Hayate's head, stroking his head. "You're both such _good_ little monsters. That's what you are now, isn't it? A disgusting, vile _monster._ "

 

Both of them whine at that, and Riza presses her thighs together, trying to hide the liquid running down her thighs. Eckhart notices though, and she brings her hand down on Riza's ass with a loud 'smack', bringing another whimper from Riza's lips. "Don't hide, little monster."

 

Eckhart hits her again, making her ass jiggle. Slowly, with a quiet sob, Riza spreads her legs, and Eckhart pushes her forcefully down onto the ground until her newly massive clit grinds against the floor. Riza lets out another sob, but her hips thrust back and forth of their own accord, new organ grinding on the floor.

 

Eckhart spanks her again, then stuffs three fingers into her wet cunt. Riza's sob turns into a gasp of pleasure, and her hips vibrate as she grinds against both the floor and Eckhart's fingers in a desperate panic, tail wagging. You can see the knot inflate in her clit, and then just before Riza can reach some release for her heat, Eckhart yanks her fingers away.

 

Tears of frustration run down Riza's face, and when Eckhart gets up and starts to walk away, Hayate's head lurches out and bites her thigh. Eckhart starts at that with a yelp of pain - then kicks out at Hayate. The dog's head cracks, lolling on a broken neck, and Riza begins to cry brokenly.

 

“Get used to it,” Eckhart says coldly. “If you’re really lucky, somebody will put you out of your misery.”

 

She turns to you, and reaches out to you with a beckoning hand. You nod, and follow her to the door. Behind you, Riza’s still crying in pain and misery, hips bucking against the floor of their own accord, her dead dog fused irreparably with a body she doesn’t know how to leave behind – yet.

 

Eckhart takes your hand in hers. You’re not done – not yet.


End file.
